


Property of Akira Kurusu.

by myaami



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Bad Coping Mechanisms for Everyone, Blackmail, Dark Akira, Gen, mentioned abuses from the game, no powers, power games, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-18 11:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19333216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myaami/pseuds/myaami
Summary: Akira is a collector of valuable things. Of cards, and of people who are guaranteed to follow his instruction.





	Property of Akira Kurusu.

Akira tosses his deck of cards into the trash can and kicks it over. Once, his cards were perfect, their crisp edges neatly aligned in a stack and their faces flat so the entirety of the surface touched the ones above and below. But now, scattered across the floor of his new attic home above Leblanc, the cards are dirty, bent. Worthless.

Akira is a collector of valuable things. In his old town, this deck was truly priceless. No monetary value could be assigned to these cards because they held a unique power that regular ones did not.

He’ll have to start all over again. Fortunately, Tokyo is a large enough city that Akira can surely expect to regroup his losses in no time.

* * *

The first days at Akira’s new school pass in quiet observation. The other students shy away from him once they learn of his previous expulsion. Specific details weren’t leaked, but it was enough; anyone with a delinquent label must be bad news. That’s fine. Makes his job easier.

His discovery happens by accident. Akira is about to head home after school, when a soft muffle from the alley catches his attention. He sidles against the wall, carefully taking out his phone, and observes.

“You spread his criminal record, didn’t you Mishima?” A voice accuses, low and dangerous.

A trembling voice replies. “I had no choice, I was only following instructions.”

“Forever a Kamoshida goon, eh? Always do what he says, huh?” A punch is thrown. “He obviously gave that order to screw with me. He knows another delinquent would divide my gang and weaken my position.” A kick this time.

“I-I can help you out! I didn’t tell him everything, there’s a lot more. Please Sakamoto, I can't keep doing what he says anymore. This assignment really crossed the line, and I'd rather have your protection than his!”

Another pause but there’s no impact this time. 

“Sure, Mishima,” the dangerous voice says, sounding oddly restrained. “Get me my dirt, and I’ll make sure Kamoshida won’t touch you again.”

“Oh god, thank you! Here, I already have it. Take this. I’ll do whatever you say from now on!”

“Thanks, kid.” A sigh of relief from the broken boy, and a sudden burst of laughter from the other. “Just kiddin’. Never trust weaklings.”

A punch and a groan, followed by silence and a whisper, “Oh shit. Mishima?” 

After pocketing his phone and saving the video, Akira practically skips home to the attic above Leblanc and carefully unwraps his blank card stock. Each card is about as wide as his hand and a bit taller in height. He decides that his Tokyo deck will be red and black. As carefully as he has done before, Akira draws a figure on the front, and when it's dry, writes in calligraphy on the back. The final touch: his signature at the bottom.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

* * *

News of the attack on Yuuki Mishima and his subsequent amnesia spreads fast. A beating at school is typically ignored, but the memory loss isn’t something they’ll let slide. The administration wants to make an example of the attacker. Expulsion. Juvenile hall. Fingers are pointed all around the school, but no one knows for certain who did it.

Right before the lunch break, Akira places his newly made card illustration side up on Ryuji Sakamoto’s desk. Sakamoto doesn't know what to make of the gesture, laughing weakly and praising Akira for the drawing. 

When it’s flipped over, well that’s always Akira’s favorite part. The way they start off thinking it’s simply a cute card, smile lingering from the impressive art on the front. Then there’s a moment when it clicks. They _get_ it. This isn’t cute; it’s personal.

Sakamoto jumps up snarling, his hands balled into fists to strike, but Akira’s done this enough times to know to sidestep the first punch thrown on his left, then to move in close on the right.

“Ah, ah. I wouldn’t Sakamoto. You see what that card says? It might be wrapped up as a little story, but when paired with verifiable evidence, no one will question it. I’m sure you didn’t mean to hit him hard enough for memory loss, but that little empire you worked so hard to build? Usurped by Kamoshida himself. You’d be cast out and deemed unworthy and unfit for rule, and for life, frankly. A violent offender. If you were ever caught, that’s the end for you. _But not if you listen to me.”_ Akira steps back to admire the handiwork of his words as Sakamoto's face flickers between at least ten different emotions. “Well? Do you understand?”

Akira knows Sakamoto’s type. He wants to do it. He’s craving a fight, all his natural instincts telling him to take Akira on, evidence and consequences be damned, but that won't cut it for Akira. He doesn’t need a fight, he needs complete and utter submission. Akira taps his finger next to the small text at the bottom of the card repeatedly, Sakamoto’s eyes following the sound and motion until finally reason wins out over instinct and Sakamoto slams his hands on the desk and hangs his head. 

“Yes Kurusu, I understand.”

* * *

**_Le Chariot_ **

_Le Chariot is every bit the rough and aggressive personality he seems. Attempting to cling feebly to his waning power, Le Chariot issues false promises and exerts extraordinary force on his fellow peers, enough to make them forget it. His fall will be brought about by his loud voice and distinctive hair color, which can be clearly seen on the recording equipment of passersby._

_Property of Akira Kurusu._

* * *

The claims of Kamoshida’s abuse are widespread throughout the school. Known to all, but contained and perpetuated through whispers.

Ann Takamaki sits in front of Akira in class, and apparently the girl who stepped off the roof last week was her best friend. Fortunately, the girl is going to recover after intense physical therapy, but Takamaki blames Kamoshida for her friend’s actions. No one will listen. Unlike Mishima, who couldn’t have inflicted the amnesia onto himself, this girl clearly acted of her own volition. So say they all.

Deciding to take the matter into her own hands, Takamaki invites herself into Kamoshida’s office concealing a tape recorder, then proceeds to embarrasses herself with awkward advances meant to encourage and catch Kamoshida red handed. She fails, and he reprimands her for trying to flirt with him for a passing grade.

Akira catches everything on tape too; he’d already set them up all over the school, ready to capture prime moments like this.

Takamaki is beyond mortified that someone else has evidence of her mistake. When she realizes what the card implies, she tries to explain it away, but Akira plays innocent. “That’s not what you said on the tape. Besides, Kamoshida might be interested if you tried again.”

“N-no! I was trying to get evidence! No, please don’t tell anyone,” she begs, falling apart. “If people found out, they would be disgusted. It would seem like I drove Shiho to jump in order to have Kamoshida all to myself and that’s not true at all, it’s awful…”

 _L’Amoureux_ makes a lovely addition to Akira’s collection.

* * *

**_L’Amoureux_ **

_As the name suggests, L’Amoureux is passionate but at times, shortsighted. She made advances towards the King of the Castle but was harshly rejected, perhaps due to the King’s obsession with another. Due to her lowly and vulnerable station, L’Amoureux lives in constant fear of hearing her words echo from a third party, revealing how she was willing to use any means necessary to advance in this world._

_Property of Akira Kurusu._

* * *

**_L’Empereur_ **

_Despite his lofty title, L’Empereur has little to his name. He will do anything for money, including steal from rich and poor alike: from the one who feeds him, and the ones who have nothing, just like him. L’Empereur’s goal is to run away and forge his own path, and it seems that stepping on others is not above his station. The Black Market welcomes L’Empereur’s return._

_Property of Akira Kurusu._

* * *

**_La Papesse_ **

_Le Papesse grew up locked away and isolated from the rest of the world. In an act of underage rebellion against her captors, La Papesse spends time in unsavory establishments with questionable company, drugs, and drink. Despite her typical common sense, La Papesse leaves herself open to photographic evidence of her activities._

_Property of Akira Kurusu._

* * *

Akira almost doesn’t want to collect Boss’s daughter because of how messed up she already is, but he needs it to expand his collection. 

 _Someday,_ he thinks. There’s no rush. After all, Akira’s only been in the city for a few months. He has the rest of his life to gather up the cards of Tokyo.

* * *

Haru Okumura was an unexpected card if Akira were to judge based on her timid appearance, but he's learned that the offspring of the family tree are often as corrupt as the roots themselves.

When Akira presents her with her card, she’s angry. Not shocked like the others. Not stunned into silence like _L’Empereur,_ or reduced to tears like _La Papesse._ Okumura is fuming.

“Are you in league with them?” Okumura spits. “With those _thieves_?” The smug look on Akira’s face falters for a moment, but Okumura continues unphased. “They already got me on the embezzlement, and wanted my cooperation in return for their silence.” Hand on her hip, she looks Akira up and down. “What do _you_ want, Kurusu?”

“Nothing for now,” he says, smooth to disguise his surprise. “But I have this piece of information on you, and will call on you to use it someday.”

“Aw, _Kurusu,_ how little you know about the corporate world,” Okumura mocks. “I’ve read your words and I understand the implications. Just know you’re not alone out there in whatever nasty business you choose to take part in. Until you decide to contact me next, kindly fuck off.”

* * *

**_L’Imperatrice_ **

_Riches, status, and fame are not enough to please L’Imperatrice. She must have more, even if that means destroying her father’s empire and dragging her subjects through the mud. Her beautiful signature that graces a variety of unsavory documents will be her demise._

_Property of Akira Kurusu._

* * *

By November, his deck is ten cards strong and representative of a diverse array of misdeeds committed by the Tokyo populace. _Le Diable,_ when drunk, divulged her own ethical reporting malpractices with little prompting from Akira. The scam from _La Roue De Fortune_ was obvious, but the difficulty was in discovering the right kind of pressure to apply, rather than revealing the act of fraud itself. Same for _La Pendu;_ the Yakuza connections made him vulnerable, but it was his son that allowed Akira to control him. _Le Soleil_ might have been able to put his first mistake behind him, but his latest affair bit him in the ass and made it known. And _Temperance,_ what abuse of power, coming on to a high schooler like that. Akira was so disguised, he flat out refused any advances from her.

In his old town, Akira ended up with twenty cards by the time he left. Twenty individuals, kids and adults, owned and in his pocket for whatever Akira wanted. Usually it wasn’t money—they would buy whatever he wanted whenever he told them to—no, it came down to the high of power and control, and the joy of ownership.

The comment from _L’Imperatrice_ about there being others in the city with greater ambition intrigues him, while the memory of her taunting him grates on his nerves. Begrudgingly, he agrees that she might have a point. Maybe he’s not optimizing his cards properly. Perhaps it’s not the utilization of them, but his selection of them in the first place. So far, his collection is only comprised of the low hanging fruit he sees on a daily basis.

Until he finds his next target, Akira counts and maintains his cards with pride.

* * *

Who knew that the pretty faced teen detective was such a bad boy. Akira had seen him before in interviews, but Goro Akechi wasn’t a contender for a card until Akira decided to aim higher.

The problem is getting close enough to engage in continued and long term contact. Unlike the others, Akira can’t pay Akechi a visit during or after school because they don’t run in the same circles. 

This is precisely what his cards are for. _La Papesse’_ s connection to the police is well placed, and gets him a brief meeting with Akechi. Akira pretends it’s for a school assignment following up on the class trip to Akechi’s TV interview several months ago.

Akechi is polite. He’s also a bit cautious. “Of course I wouldn’t mind answering some questions. Though I am curious as to how you even got in to see me…”

“Some of the teachers coordinated with the police,” Akira lies. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you get a few more requests in the coming days.” He makes a mental note to call _Temperance._

All of Akira’s questions are designed to probe at Akechi’s life and reveal his secrets, like how he became a detective so young, and how he pays for his own place. Akechi’s responses are rote, but Akira is well versed in teasing apart truth from fiction. 

 _La Justice_ is surely his greatest conquest to date. With the seeds of truths and lies from Akechi, and _L’Imperatrice’s_ access to secured information, Akira fills the card’s entire face detailing Akechi’s shady business. There's hardly room for his scratchy signature, but what would be the point without proof of ownership? 

Akira had the foresight, and charm, to ask for and receive Akechi’s phone number, so when the card is complete, Akira invites Akechi out for brunch. Akechi is already waiting when Akira arrives, seated at a table for two on the café’s terrace. He smiles pleasantly at Akira, but his eyes don't. He’s slipping. Maybe he already knows he’s a mouse that’s been cornered and caught in a trap.

“I must say, I was surprised to hear from you again so soon, Kurusu, but I’m also thankful. You're paying right?”

“Of course,” Akira says sweetly. _Bite me_ , he thinks. “Before we order though, I have something for you.”

“Funny, I have something for you too.” From his bag, Akechi produces a white envelope with red wax dripped in the middle. He places it at the center of their table. “You know, these usually aren’t delivered in person, but you’ve been quite the busy bee and I admit I’m _intrigued._ I wanted to see your craftsmanship up close. Don’t be shy,” he raps his knuckles on the envelope. “I want to watch. I want to watch as your world falls apart.”

Upon closer inspection, the red wax bears the seal of a mask, one eye in flames, wearing a top hat.

“Well Kurusu? Aren't you curious.”

Akira fumbles with the wax trying to open the envelope, fingers shaking so badly he almost drops it more than once, all the while feeling Akechi’s predatorial intensity. Akira knows what his own face must look like. He’s seen it dozens of times himself; he _revelled_ in watching people realize they had become his prey.

The note is printed on high quality card stock. No tales, no stories. Simple and crystal clear:

 

_To Akira Kurusu, who has demonstrably committed the following crimes: stalking, negligence to help an injured person, planting recording equipment without subject knowledge, buying stolen goods on the black market, engaging in underage drinking, and breaking into confidential computer records. Your cooperation is requested. If you resist, your crimes will be confessed with your own mouth after evidence of your misdeeds is revealed._

 

Akira thrusts the card away like it’s on fire, but Akechi swoops in to catch it. “There’s more inside the envelope,” he encourages, lips curling, ready to sink his teeth into Akira to claim him physically like he already has on paper. “Wouldn’t want to overlook a part of your gift now would you?”

It’s a folded page of regular paper, a log of Akira’s actions and movements while investigating _Le Chariot._ Timestamps. Snippets of transcribed conversations between him and Sakamoto at school that are surely linked to audio files saved somewhere on Akechi’s hard drive. And it’s only one page. How many more does Akechi have?

“You should know that I own this city, me and mine. So far you’ve been playing in the little league. You’re good, but inexperienced. The city is a big place with more bad people than you ever encountered in your tiny hometown.”

When Akechi asks, Akira mutely hands over _La Justice._ “Truly a masterpiece, and probably more effective for disguising the blackmail. You've got quite a flair for the dramatic, don’t you. I think I can put your skills to good use.” Akechi keeps the card. “I don't need to explain it, do I. The consequences? You get it, don't you, Akira? Why you can't run? _”_

Akira nods because that’s all he can do anymore. He’s done. Finished. Life as he knows it is over. Who did he think he was going up against someone like Akechi? With all the crimes Akira uncovered, surely that should have given him cause to believe he wasn’t playing with kids anymore, but no. Akira got greedy. He wanted to _own_ Goro Akechi, and look how that turned out.

“I'm glad,” Akechi’s smile softens but his eyes keep laughing. He pats Akira’s hand. “I got you a little something in anticipation of your positive response.” 

A dog tag threaded through a metal chain. Engraved upon its face, it reads: 

 

_#1_

_Property of G.A._

 

“I have one too.” He pulls his out from under his shirt. His number is 310, and his owner is M.S. “I’m old news to him,” Akechi says, tucking it back in. “But I'm moving up in the world today. You’re my first, Akira. I'm _so happy_. You’re going to like this. The Phantom Thieves are very good. You’ll learn a lot from us.”

Akechi extends his hand, but when Akira mirrors the motion, Akechi drops the chain over Akira’s head. 

“You're mine, Akira,” Akechi purrs, pulling on the chain to bring Akira closer, leaning across the table until Akira can see in Akechi’s eyes the nightmare he’s been cast into. “But I’ll take care of you,” he promises. “Together we’ll make an excellent team, so long as you remember your place. _Do you understand?”_

And it’s the weight of the chain around Akira’s neck, the cold and tangible embodiment of ownership against his skin, that finally breaks him.

“Yes Akechi," Akira says. "I understand.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 This came completely out of left field, but the idea would not leave me and it was fun exploring this take on Akira's confidant cards :)


End file.
